


Why'd You Do It?

by melody1987



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Injury Recovery, M/M, eosiode 4 didn't gimme what i needed so i'm doin' it my fucking self
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 21:56:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13510572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melody1987/pseuds/melody1987
Summary: Bruce took a bullet for John and John wants to know why.





	Why'd You Do It?

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't played episode 4 of telltale Batman yet and don't want spoilers AVOID THIS FIC! Otherwise, welcome! This is set after the game over scene where Bruce takes a bullet for John. 
> 
> (Apologies in advance, this was very much a rush job)

“ _ Bruce...Bruce?” _

The sound is coming from somewhere up above. Or maybe...behind? Somewhere far away at least. It’s a sound he recognises, he’s sure, but can’t quite place right now. It’s too soft, indistinct, like something’s standing in the way of it, and he tries moving to make it clearer but the second he does, it’s as if someone’s attached a clamp to his chest and is squeezing it tighter with every single breath. He stops. And waits. And the sound comes back again.

“Bruce?”

It’s clearer now, louder too, and after another minute Bruce realises it’s his name. And it’s being said by someone he thinks he knows, pretty sure he knows, but there’s only one way to find out.

His eyes are impossibly heavy and sore, the lids  seeming to take forever to open, and when they do the light’s so bright he has to shut them immediately and start all over again. There’s an  _ oops _ before the weight on whatever he’s lying on shifts and footsteps retreat across a polished floor, followed by a  _ click _ that makes the light dim. Already, that’s better and, this time, when Bruce opens his eyes, he manages to keep them that way.

“Hey, buddy!”

The voice is warm and it takes a few blinks for Bruce’s vision to clear and, when it does, all he can see is John, a somehow concerned and relieved all at once John peering closely at him. He doesn’t look great, one eye puffy and purple, the other rimmed with red as if he’s been crying for hours and that’s enough for Bruce to force what are supposed to be words out of his mouth to ask what’s wrong. But all that actually comes out is a rasp that makes Bruce wince and has John reaching for something beside the bed.

“Here,” John says, pressing a plastic cup to Bruce’s lips, other hand sliding round to the nape of Bruce’s neck to help angle his face. 

It’s weird for John to be looking after him, even with something as small as this. It’s usually the other way round. But Bruce is more than happy to accept the help and he takes a few sips, the cold water as welcome as rain in the desert before it’s taken away and his head is carefully returned to the pillow. 

Bruce gives speaking a second go and, this time, manages to push out actual words.

“What happened?”

John doesn’t respond right away. He faces the wall opposite, something close to torturous crossing his face as his brows knit and his knee bobs erratically. But when he looks at Bruce again, either the moment’s passed or he’s managed to rein it in because his expression’s flatter, just like his voice when he says, “You got shot.”

It’s Bruce’s turn to frown. 

“Yeah,” John continues. “Waller. Shot you right in the chest.” He jabs the spot a few inches below the flower on his vest and Bruce’s frown only deepens. 

“She...she shot me?”

“Don’t you remember?” The concern is back, John’s gaze intense as it runs circles over Bruce’s face and now, the more he talks, the faster the words come, tumbling out as if he’s in a rush to get rid of them. “On the bridge? Harley...the virus...ready to blow everyone to smithereens? Oh, she was  _ so angry _ , Bruce, I've never seen her that mad before! And you tried to talk to her but it only made her worse - you really shouldn’t have mentioned her father, y’know - and everyone had their guns and I thought all hell was gonna break loose, so I went to talk to her, calm her down. And I did! I got the virus and it was all going so  _ well _ …” 

John’s face darkens, then, as he takes a much-needed breath and Bruce tries to match John’s story with the images swirling around in his head. It all sounds familiar, although there are a few gaps because he hadn’t realised it was Waller who pulled the trigger. Not that he's surprised.

“And then  _ Waller _ had to mess it all up, ordering me to hand it over. As if! You think Harley’s bad, well Waller’s even worse! No way I was giving it to  _ her _ ...so she pulled her gun on me and then  _ you  _ ran in and - ” John smacks the same spot on his vest again. “Bam! You hit the deck. And there’s blood everywhere and everyone’s shouting and you’re not moving and the ambulance takes  _ forever _ to arrive…”

As John continues to ramble, his voice starts to do what it always does when he’s nervous or excited or just generally overwhelmed, pitch and tone dancing all over the place and Bruce needs to calm him down, although his current condition leaves his options pretty limited. And even if that weren’t the case, there’s barely chance to get a word in edgewise. 

“But as soon as they arrived they whisked you away and I had to get a cab to follow because they wouldn’t let me ride with you, and when I got here I couldn’t see you because you were already in surgery. It was touch and go for a while, y’know, there was a moment they thought you might not even make it but I  _ knew _ you would, ‘cause these doctors, ho boy they really know their stuff -”

The giggles start and that’s when Bruce knows he has to step in, pushing through the pain to move his arm and rest his hand on John’s elbow.

“John, it’s okay…”

“Why’d you do it?” John suddenly demands, eyes so wide and intense that Bruce reflexively tries to back away. “You could’ve  _ died _ , Bruce and then where would we all be? You can’t just  _ do that _ , y’know, you can’t - ”

“ _ John _ .” Bruce’s voice is firmer than he means it to be but he needs a way to shut John up, just force him to take a moment to breathe because he’s getting manic and Bruce doesn’t have enough strength to deal with that right now. It seems to work because John goes quiet and faces the wall again, knee bobbing frantically once more as his jaw goes taut with the effort of restraint. 

When Bruce speaks again, his voice is gentle and he moves his hand down to John’s wrist. “It’s okay, John,  _ I’m  _ okay. You don’t need to worry anymore, alright?”

John nods but doesn’t speak, leaving the room in uncomfortable silence for several long minutes before his head slowly turns back to Bruce and - well that’s really not fair because he’s giving Bruce the expression of a lost puppy, stirring something deep inside and Bruce already feels like shit, he doesn’t need guilt on top of it...but, wait, why is he feeling guilty anyway? He saved John’s life. That’s a  _ good _ thing.

“Why did you do it?” 

John’s voice is much softer now and he sounds on the verge of tears and Bruce isn’t sure how to answer. He wasn’t really thinking, just reacting. He saw a gun, saw its aim and just...moved. But that’s not the answer John’s looking for or deserves and with the sickening lurch Bruce’s stomach gives at the thought of the bullet hitting John instead, Bruce is reminded that there was so much more to it than that. It’s complicated, as everything is with them, but after all the secrecy and deception and seeing the road it’s taken them down, perhaps it’s time to try a little honesty. Lay a few cards on the table.

At the very least it might get that heartbreaking look off John’s face.

“I…” 

Bruce sighs. He knows the words are in there but they’re playing hard to get. He takes another moment, during which the weight of John’s gaze becomes almost unbearable, before trying again.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” 

John’s expression doesn’t change and, really, why should it? That answer was terrible. Bruce steels himself to push harder.

_ Because _ … 

“Because...I care...about you.”

Bruce knows the declaration still leaves a lot to be desired but he’s put special emphasis on the word  _ care _ , hoping John might see the meaning he’s trying so hard to convey. It takes a minute or two - or five or ten - but eventually John’s expression turns from wounded to desperate and for a second Bruce thinks he’s gotten it all horribly wrong. Then John springs forward for what he must’ve meant to be a kiss but is more like a collision, lips smacking together hard enough to make Bruce wince. He doesn’t pull away, though because, well, he doesn’t want to, even choosing to ignore the pain to push further into it until John accidentally presses against the gunshot wound, making Bruce hiss.

John immediately pulls back, hands flying to his mouth as his eyes go comically wide and Bruce squeezes his own shut because,  _ shit _ , that really did fucking hurt, but before John can run himself ragged with remorse, Bruce waves a hand to cut through the apologies.

“It’s...it’s alright,” Bruce grunts, hand going to his chest and he closes his eyes, waiting for the pain to pass. When he opened them, it’s to John watching him intently, eyes still wide, bottom lip between his teeth and cheeks a much brighter shade of pink than before.

“That...wasn’t a very good kiss, was it?”

Bruce can’t help it, he laughs, which makes him suck in another painful breath. But just like the clumsy kiss, it feels good despite the pain.

“I’ve had worse,” Bruce says. Not many, admittedly, but still. 

John grimaces but there’s a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Well, now I feel bad for  _ them. _ They must’ve been awful.”

Despite his best efforts not to - because John is just being too...well... _ John _ \- Bruce laughs again, bringing tears to his eyes and it doesn’t help when John starts laughing too. By the end Bruce is left wondering where the button for the pain relief is.

When he’s eventually able to breathe again, Bruce settles back against the pillow and they end up locked in an awkward stalemate, both apparently waiting to see what the other will do. They should probably talk about this, as well as many, many other things - Harley, the virus, that ridiculous orange flower - but, right now, there’s only one thing he’d like to do and he’s pretty sure he’s gone through enough shit to deserve it.

“John, come here.”

John frowns. “Why?”

All Bruce has to do is give him a look and John quickly catches on, face brightening with an “Oh!” before he leans forward. And this time Bruce is ready, mouth open to take his in a kiss that’s slow and sweet and absolutely worth every bit of pain. And he’s pulling John closer into his lap, and John’s hands are sliding into his hair, and what John lacks in experience he’s more than making up for with enthusiasm, the kiss deepening as they lose themselves in the moment. And they kiss and they kiss and they kiss and Bruce is pretty sure they’re never going to stop, and neither notices the door open as Alfred walks in before immediately tiptoeing away.


End file.
